I Am Hated For Loving
by SeenaC
Summary: Part of my continuing narrative.  A discovery about the Holmes family will forever change the lives of the brothers.  Please see warnings inside. COMPLETE!  Please give final thoughts/reactions...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is going to be much darker, angsty-er, and, um, kinkier than my previous stories. So, I apologize in advance for pushing anyone's buttons. Just don't say you weren't warned! It doesn't involve a case, per-se, so it probably won't be terribly long in length. This is mostly to forward the relationships of the main characters involved, and to reveal a bit more of the backstory of the Holmes family. Story begins the morning after "The Air Conditioner." As usual, written from John's POV.

**Warnings:** _Extreme_ family dysfunction, adult (i.e. sexual) subject matter, masturbation, angst, underlying hints of slash, but (still) nothing explicit. Some swearing.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters. The title is an homage to a song by Morrissey, but there's not a direct connection to the song, I just thought the title was appropriate. No disrespect or infringement intended. No profits are made by me.

I Am Hated For Loving - 1

I woke up to the sound of knocking. For a moment, I was completely disoriented, not knowing where I was. Then I remembered - of course: Sherlock's bed - with Sherlock.

I sat up quickly, in a sudden panic, as if I were about to be caught in a compromising position. It was silly, as Sherlock and I were not doing anything but sleeping together, and even if we were doing more, it still shouldn't matter. However, my heart raced on, ignoring any logic my brain offered up.

I looked over at Sherlock beside me. He had awakened as well, and was making a disgusted face.

"Mycroft," he said, "we might as well get up. If we don't, he's likely to go ahead and come in anyway."

The idea of Mycroft Holmes coming in the room and finding me in bed with his baby brother was enough to levitate me out of the bed and out the bedroom door at lightning speed. I was in my t-shirt and pajama pants, and I wished I had my dressing gown, but I had forgotten it upstairs in my own room. Right now, Mycroft Holmes was presumably standing between myself and access to my room. I wasn't sure how Sherlock knew that the person knocking on the door was Mycroft, but experience had taught me to trust that he was probably correct.

I opened the flat door and there indeed stood Mycroft Holmes, impeccably attired as usual in a three-piece suit, umbrella in hand. He had his usual smile on his face, although his eyes looked red and puffy, with dark shadows underneath them. He looked me over, in the way that the Holmes brothers do, and turned and looked ever so briefly at the stairs I hadn't come down.

"Good morning John, I apologize if I got you out of bed."

"It's ok, I had to get up soon anyway. Come on in." _Damn! I should have said I was already up!_

"Can I get you some tea Mycroft? I'm going to fix myself and Sherlock some."

"Tea would be wonderful, thanks."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded as he came out of the bedroom in his dressing gown. I tried not to be jealous. After all, it wasn't his fault I'd forgotten mine.

"You slept in your bed last night? What's the occasion?" Mycroft's eyes flickered back and forth between us.

Sherlock flushed. "What do you want, Mycroft?" he repeated through gritted teeth.

"I was on my way to the office and thought I'd stop in and say hello."

"Liar. You look like hell. What is it Mycroft?"

"I've been very busy with work, a lot of late nights."

There was a pause.

"So what do you want Mycroft?"

"I don't want anything. I just wanted to see you."

Sherlock snorted. "You never just want to see me. You want to either interfere with something I'm doing or ask me a favor. So which is it this morning?"

I was thankful I was in the kitchen getting the tea ready, but I wished I was even further away. I was always very uncomfortable witnessing the two brothers sparring.

Mycroft sighed. "I promise you, Sherlock, I'm not here to interfere _or _ask you a favor."

"So it's just a coincidence that you decide to come to visit early today?"

I brought out mugs of tea for Sherlock and Mycroft, just in time to catch Mycroft's sly smirk. I retreated quickly back into the kitchen.

"Nothing I do is a coincidence. But I promise, I'm not here to interfere."

"Mycroft..." Sherlock began furiously, but he was cut off by Mycroft suddenly leaping from the chair he had sat in.

"Stop it!" he shouted. "Just stop it, alright? Why do you think it so bothersome that I should care about you and what goes on in your life? Why should I have to resort to subterfuge to find out how you spend your time and who you spend it with? Why shouldn't a brother just stop in to say hello once in a while? Believe it or not, Sherlock, it's NORMAL for siblings to see each other socially more than just once a year for Christmas dinner. Why can't we be more like a normal - " and he stopped just as suddenly as he'd exploded.

Sherlock and I were both frozen in place, staring at him open-mouthed. I could hardly believe that the icy, collected Mycroft Holmes was actually letting his emotions run free.

Mycroft gulped down the rest of his tea, then came in the kitchen and handed the mug back to me. He smiled at me, his eyes tired and sad.

"Thanks for the tea, John," he said, "I hope that Sherlock doesn't come to resent _you_ for caring for him, the way he does me."

He then walked back to the sitting room, collected his umbrella, said goodbye to Sherlock and left.

I walked out to the sitting room myself and found Sherlock staring after his brother, wearing an expression of shock and confusion.

TBC

Sorry for such a short opening chapter, but it seemed a logical stopping point. And, I have to leave for work now! Please let me know what you think of it so far...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts. I'm pretty nervous about this installment, as it's different from what I've done before so con-crit would be really helpful. Thanks! :-)

I Am Hated For Loving - 2

Sherlock seemed to be frozen in shock, as he stood looking at the doorway Mycroft had exited. After what seemed like a full minute he finally turned to me, a look of total bewilderment on his face. It was a look I'd never seen on him before. Clearly, Mycroft's behavior was not something that had ever been part of the repertoire of their relationship.

I shrugged slightly, I didn't see any possible way I could shed light on Mycroft's behavior. I cleared my throat nervously and said, "Well, I better get ready for work."

As I left the flat that morning, Sherlock was tapping busily away on his laptop and phone. I suspected that he was looking for some sort of international crisis that could have sparked Mycroft's outburst. I rather suspected he wouldn't find one.

When I returned in the evening I found Sherlock just as I had left him, although there was a look of dissatisfaction on his face.

He resolutely ignored me, refusing to speak when I spoke to him. Finally, for my own peace of mind I demanded that he give me a nod to confirm that this mood was about Mycroft and not anything I had done. He nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to my own business.

When I went to bed, he was still working with no sign of stopping.

Later that night, something woke me up. Disoriented with sleep, it seemed like the bed was shaking. I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head. It was then that I realized that Sherlock was in bed with me, I could hear him breathing. The movement seemed to be coming from him. he was breathing in shaky, stuttering breaths that seemed to match the tremors coming through the mattress from his body. As odd as it seemed, it also felt strangely familiar. Then my sleep-addled brain put the pieces together.

_Holy fuck! Sherlock is having a wank!_

I felt my eyes pop open wide, as the rest of my body froze in shock. I laid there, not knowing what the hell I should do. While I was still in my frozen quandary, Sherlock finished with a few more deep shuddering breaths and his body stilled. As his breathing calmed I could feel him cleaning up after himself. He had apparently come to the bed prepared. I heard him drop the tissues into the waste basket he had apparently positioned by his side of the bed.

I was still having a hard time getting my brain beyond repeating _what the hell?_ over and over again.

After several minutes of confusion and near-panic I realized that Sherlock was asleep, his breathing deep and even. It seemed awkward at that point to wake him up and confront him.

_Awkward? This situation is beyond awkward! My best friend just masturbated while lying in bed with me! _

_It just figures,_ I fumed silently, _I finally get the answer to the question of whether Sherlock Holmes has a libido or not, but it comes in the most uncomfortable form possible. _

If Sherlock had made a pass at me I could've handled that. I've had guys, even guys I was close friends with, make passes at me before. It was uncomfortable, but I've been able to handle it. Maybe having a gay sister helps. But I didn't even know where to begin with this.

I was pretty sure that this was the first time Sherlock had done this in bed with me. I'm a fairly light sleeper and if he had done it on the lilo I probably would have known. As it was, I usually woke up when he came to bed, although that hadn't happened tonight. I must have slept through most of the incident tonight, judging by how quickly he "finished" after I woke up. He had also done it with his back toward me, indicating that he was trying to be somewhat discreet, and he certainly was quiet about it.

_But STILL! Why would he DO that?_

I'll freely admit, here in my private (random password protected) journal that I also masturbate, and on a fairly regular basis, so I wouldn't pass any moral judgment on the activity itself. Heck, I'd be in a world of hurt if I did, seeing as it's my only sexual outlet right now. There was a few times in Afghanistan when I'd had to take care of a few persistent "problems" (close brushes with death have a way of creating them) in less than ideal circumstances, but aside from that, I'd always been of the opinion that autoeroticism was something that was either a) done in STRICT privacy or b) shared with a trusted partner.

_You don't sneak up on your sleeping friend and wank next to him!_

I was well aware that Sherlock had very little regard for such things as manners and social norms, but I had never really thought about it as affecting his sexual behavior. I suppose that was probably because he had never exhibited any, up until now.

I was starting to calm down and get sleepy again. As I drifted off, I hoped that maybe this was just a "one-off" so to speak, and would never happen again.

The next morning when I got up for work Sherlock was still asleep in bed. He never woke before I left, so I didn't have to face any awkward situations with him.

When I got home in the evening, Sherlock was just as morose as he had been the previous day. He was no longer working on his laptop or phone, but laying on the couch just staring up at the ceiling. I decided it was time to do something.

"Sherlock, if this is about Mycroft, why don't you talk to him?"

I saw him frown.

I continued, "I don't pretend to have your abilities, but I could see something was clearly bothering Mycroft yesterday. Instead of picking a fight with him, why not try and find out why he's upset? I think he was trying to reach out to you yesterday. I think you should make an effort, for your brother."

Sherlock sat up on the couch, his eyes blazing at me, "You're a fine one to talk, with the way you avoid Harry."

I sighed, "Harry doesn't want a brother, she wants a drinking buddy. Or, at the very least, permission from me to continue her self-destructive behavior, which of course I won't give. Until that changes, I am not able to help her. That situation is entirely different from your situation with Mycroft."

The fire seemed to leave Sherlock then, and he slumped back onto the couch and was silent for a bit.

Finally, he held out his hand to me, "Can you hand me my phone? It's on the desk."

I got up and handed it to him, and he typed out a text.

A few minutes later his phone rang.

Sherlock answered it, "Hello?"

I could hear what I assumed to be Mycroft's voice speaking, but I couldn't make out the words.

Sherlock replied, "I'll come if I can bring John as well."

There was another pause while Mycroft spoke.

Then Sherlock ended with, "Okay, I'll see you then."

He put down the phone and said, "He wants me to have dinner with him at his house tomorrow night. He said you can come as well, as long as I consider you as a member of the family."

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

I Am Hated For Loving - 3

_He put down the phone and said, "He wants me to have dinner with him at his house tomorrow night. He said you can come as well, as long as I consider you as a member of the family."_

I blinked, then said, "What?"

Sherlock gave me a quizzical look and said with exaggerated patience, "Mycroft wants me to come to dinner tomorrow night. I said I would go as long as you could come as well. Mycroft said that would be fine, as long as I consider you as a member of the family."

I was still at a loss. Sherlock seemed to be waiting for me to say something, though what it could be I had no idea.

Finally I said, "I don't know, Sherlock, it sounds like he wants to talk about something sensitive. Maybe I shouldn't go."

There was an awkward pause. Sherlock still looked as if he expected more.

"Unless...unless you really WANT me to go with you," I added uncertainly.

Sherlock made a disgusted huff and rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to intrude into something that's none of my business," I continued.

Sherlock launched himself off the couch and marched into the bedroom, practically shouting as he went, "For HEAVEN'S _SAKE_ John! How much reassurance do you _need_? I told Mycroft I would only go if he would include you in the invitation! I don't know if you noticed or not, but I live with _you_ not Mycroft, and I can assure you it's not due to a lack of space in Mycroft's home. Whatever Mycroft's problem is, I'm sure it's nothing that you shouldn't be aware of."

He had gone into the bedroom, with me following, and he began rummaging in his dresser, pulling out some clothes.

"Mycroft might feel differently," I suggested.

"If he does, he shouldn't have given me the option of bringing you, but he did."

"Okay," I said a little defensively, "I'll go. I'm...I'm happy to...be included."

Sherlock slammed his dresser drawer shut.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically with another eye roll, "I'm taking a shower."

With that he stomped off to the bathroom.

I was left feeling vaguely ashamed of myself for apparently hurting Sherlock's feelings. But how was I supposed to know that in his mind I qualified as a member of his family?

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom after his shower still in a tetchy mood, so I called it an early night and retreated to the bedroom. I was asleep long before Sherlock came to bed, and nothing disturbed me during the night.

The following evening saw Sherlock and I arrive at Mycroft's place in Kensington. The house and its furnishings were a perfect reflection of Mycroft: tasteful, expensive, understated, timeless, and dignified.

Mycroft served dinner to us himself in a formal dining room. Either he had a cook on staff or he's an excellent chef because I didn't think I'd ever had better salmon in my life. Dinner conversation was subdued and included safe, general topics only.

Sherlock was guarded to the point of being icy, but was otherwise polite in his comments and conversation. Mycroft seemed his usual self, aside from a lingering sadness in his eyes, particularly evident when looking at his brother.

After dinner was over, Mycroft ushered us into his study where he poured a large snifter of cognac for each of us and the three of us settled into large, leather upholstered chairs.

"Mycroft," said Sherlock, after we were all settled.

Mycroft held up his hand.

"I apologize for having shouted at you the other day, Sherlock. I intend to give a full explanation of why I was short-tempered that morning, but it will be a long one."

He took a small sip of his cognac and began, "There's something I never told you about Mummy, Sherlock, at the time of her death. She was four and a half months pregnant. It was in the autopsy, but I never mentioned it to you at the time because I never thought it was of particular importance, and would only serve to possibly increase your distress at the time. I felt that the most important discovery was the fact that she had been murdered, rather than committing suicide. That fact, I felt, was something you should know, and Father agreed. I was a little nervous that you would actually insist on reading the autopsy report for yourself, but that never happened. And, as time went on, it was something that I forgot about."

"Is there anything else that you held back from me in the report?" Sherlock asked, looking remarkably calm, in my opinion.

"No, and I will be happy to provide you with a copy of the report before you leave tonight, if you wish. It is a public record, after all."

Mycroft paused, and took another sip of his brandy before continuing, "As you know, I have made looking into Mummy's death a constant project, one that has never turned up any information, no matter where and how carefully I searched. Three days ago, a trusted colleague of mine provided me the files of a secret society that were obtained by the government about a month ago. This colleague took a great personal risk in sharing them with me, and for that reason I don't have them with me here. That person had seen the files, and knew that they would be of great interest to me, and therefore ensured that I had the opportunity to read them over for myself. It took some time, as there was a lot to go through, and the information had still not been well-organized. But I am now confident that I have all the information that is important to us at my disposal. I want to relate it to you and John, and then we can make a decision about how to proceed."

I sat in my chair, holding me snifter of cognac and suppressed an urge to look around me for the movie cameras. I had a flashback to my first night with Sherlock, when I had the conversation with him about the non-existence of arch-enemies in "real life."

I looked over at Sherlock, who was leaning forward eagerly in his chair. Of course, this was something that would interest him, even if it didn't involve his family somehow.

Mycroft looked quickly at both of us, and then at the cognac swirling in his glass, "Have you heard of Sir Francis Galton?"

I shook my head but Sherlock said, "Wasn't he a cousin of Charles Darwin or something? I remember Mummy and Father had a book of his in our library at home." He thought for a second and said, "Yes, I remember, it was called _Hereditary Genius._"

Mycroft nodded, walked over to his bookshelf and pulled down a volume which he handed to Sherlock, "Yes, there it is, published 1869. Galton is considered to be the father of eugenics, in fact, he coined the term. It was a very popular idea in Europe and America at the time. And here in Britain, a group of interested families formed the Galton Society in the late nineteenth century, with the aim of improving the genetics of the population of the British Empire. It didn't start out as a 'secret society' as such, although they carefully screened potential members. However, it went underground in the twentieth century after the science of eugenics became associated with Nazi Germany. It continued with its program, secretly, until 1987 when it permanently disbanded by mutual agreement of its remaining members. One of the lifelong members of the Galton society recently died, and his heirs found the records of the society in his personal effects. They turned the records over to the government, which is how they eventually made their way to me."

Sherlock spoke up, "And Mummy and Father were - ?"

"Also life-long members."

"What was their involvement?"

"They were part of the breeding program."

TBC...

A/N: The Galton Society is entirely my invention. To my knowledge, no such organization has never existed...**Please **let me know what you think of this chapter. I'm really, really nervous about this story line and I want to do it as best I can. So any constructive criticism will be so greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, this is turning out to be a bit longer than I had envisioned. Please let me know how you feel about the revelations in this and the previous chapter. Love it? Hate it? Indifferent? Please let me know! :-)

I Am Hated For Loving - 4

_Sherlock spoke up, "And Mummy and Father were - ?"_

_"Also life-long members."_

_"What was their involvement?"_

_"They were part of the breeding programme."_

There was silence for a moment, as the weight and meaning of his words sunk in. I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around what it meant.

Sherlock spoke first again, "So who murdered Mummy and why?"

I was stunned that he sounded as calm as he did.

"I'll get to the 'who' and how to deal with them in a bit," said Mycroft. "As for the why...Well, as I said, after the Nazis, the Galton Society became secretive, to the point of paranoia. People in favor of eugenics were often accused of being Nazi sympathizers. In the early years of the society, the families who were accepted into the society were encouraged to have as many children as possible. Afterward, there was an almost total reversal. The couples were limited to only one child. A second child was only permitted if the first child either died or was in some way defective. That is why we have no aunts, uncles, or cousins: Mummy and Father were only the children in their families."

"But...why?" I asked.

"Well, by then several generations had passed and the effects of the program were beginning to take hold. It was thought that families with multiple, extraordinary offspring would draw unpleasant attention to the society. Two bright parents with a bright child was far less noticeable than, say, five or six."

"But...Sherlock..." I said, unable to fully phrase my question.

"Yes," Mycroft said, looking at his brother. "Mummy became pregnant again seven years after I was born. She successfully hid her pregnancy until she was seven months along. By the time the Society became aware of her condition, it was deemed too dangerous to force her to abort without it raising a lot of questions, as it was a perfectly healthy pregnancy. The Society reluctantly decided to let her deliver and keep the child."

I looked over at Sherlock. He looked even paler than usual, and I could see him swallow.

Mycroft took a deep breath before continuing, "As you know, Sherlock, Mummy delivered me just after she turned 21, and she had you at 28. Ten years later, she got pregnant again. This time, the Society found out much sooner. You and I were already considered to be remarkable children. Certain members of the Society felt a third child was too big a risk. They apparently met with her several times to pressure her to abort. She wouldn't. The last time, she probably let them in the house, not knowing what they intended to do if she still refused."

There was another long silence. Finally Sherlock asked, "Boy or girl?"

Mycroft looked a little surprised. "Girl," he answered.

There was another silence.

Mycroft took a sizable swallow of his cognac and then went on, "Well, Mummy's murder was also the death-blow to the Society. Those that were not involved with the murder wanted nothing to do with those that had, although there was a mutual agreement to keep silent on the whole matter. The Society had been crumbling anyway. It was becoming increasingly impossible to control the, er, mating choices of the offspring in contemporary society."

Sherlock got up out of his chair and went over and stood in front of his brother's. He then suddenly knelt in front of it, looking up at Mycroft with a look of anguish on his face.

"We were never a family," he said. "We were only part of an experiment!"

Mycroft hastily set his snifter down and reached out to Sherlock, drawing his head into his lap, stroking his hair, his face, tracing his jaw with his long, delicate fingers, so similar to Sherlock's.

"Don't say that, Sherlock. You _are_ my brother! You have a piece of my heart and soul that no one else can reach. I feel what you feel, I know your thoughts and you know mine. We were knit together in the same womb that nurtured us and provided our first shelter. Sherlock, you've always been precious to me, although I haven't always shown it. But by God, please don't deny us our bond now. I couldn't bear to be alone in this world with this knowledge."

With that, he bent his body over Sherlock's head and shoulders, and the two brothers huddled together for several minutes. If there were quiet sniffles, I pretended not to hear them and I studied Mycroft's bookshelves though my own mist-filled eyes.

After a few minutes, I heard throats clearing and I turned to see Mycroft handing Sherlock his handkerchief while his other hand was intertwined with one of Sherlock's.

"It's been a long time, little brother," he said fondly.

Sherlock didn't reply with words, but the look he gave Mycroft of open admiring love and worship was enough to make me forget to breathe for a few seconds. For an instant I saw the ten year old boy that had been locked away since the murder.; the innocent child that had admired and proudly emulated the older sibling who had seemed to be the model of perfection in his life - the boy who had existed before the horror that had shattered both of their lives.

Sherlock then wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and went back to being the World's Only Consulting Detective.

"So," he said, his voice surprisingly steady and strong, "the murderers?"

"Yes," Mycroft crisply replied, "I have compiled a list of all the parties I believe to be directly or indirectly complicit in Mummy's murder."

Mycroft handed Sherlock a piece of paper as he continued, "as you can see, some of them have already passed away themselves, while others still await an earthly accounting for their actions. Obviously, to avoid destroying our own lives we have to be careful. Technically, I still know nothing of this entire matter. I have been advised that the case worker assigned to going over the documents received from the Society has been advised not to find anything worth pursuing. Many of the members of the Society were leaders in government, business, and the peerage. Therefore, the guilty must be punished, but in such a way that only we know the true nature of their crime. I think that you are in a uniquely advantageous position to handle this."

Sherlock smiled as he tucked the list into his jacket. "There are many unsolved murders sitting in the files of Scotland Yard. Cases in which the killer cannot be found for whatever reason. I am certain I can connect the guilty parties to the crime they committed, if not the exact victim. It never hurts to take a fresh look at the evidence."

It was a plot for rough justice, for sure. But I found I heartily approved.

"I'm sorry to have to leave it up to you," Mycroft said, taking Sherlock's hand again, "but my vengeance could be too easily traced. I know you can do a better job than I."

Sherlock squeezed his brother's hand and the brothers exchanged a look that clearly communicated -

_I trust you._

_I know you do, and I love you for it._

There was a slight pause. Then Mycroft seemed to shake himself.

"There's one more thing I need your help with."

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, still a little lost in wonder at this new relationship where his brother asked him for help he was willing to give.

"Although the Society has disbanded, there was one member who recently had possession of some of the Society's, er, materials. I followed up on that reference, and have come across one other loose end in this business."

As he spoke, he pulled a photograph from his desk.

"This is something I have procured myself, based on the information that I investigated."

He placed the photo on his desk for Sherlock and me to see.

Sherlock's body went rigid with shock. I let out a gasp.

It was a recently dated surveillance photo of a boy of five or six playing in a park. In spite of his youth, he was frighteningly familiar with his face wreathed in dark curls, his cupid's bow lips, large, slanted eyes, high cheekbones and porcelain-white skin.

TBC

A/N: Okay, I'm seriously begging: I've never tried to write something of that emotional intensity before. How was it? Constructive criticism on how I could do better would be **hugely **appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

I Am Hated For Loving - 5

_He placed the photo on his desk for Sherlock and me to see._

_Sherlock's body went rigid with shock. I let out a gasp._

_It was a recently dated surveillance photo of a boy of five or six playing in a park. In spite of his youth, he was frighteningly familiar with his face wreathed in dark curls, his cupid's bow lips, large, slanted eyes, high cheekbones and porcelain-white skin._

"This is Taliesin Hyde-White," said Mycroft. "He just turned five years old. He looks a bit older than he actually is."

"Hyde-White," Sherlock repeated thoughtfully. "That was the name of our doctor."

"Yes, Dr. Caspar Hyde-White was our family physician and also a member of the Society, and recently deceased. Taliesin is his grandson."

"He...he looks just like Sherlock," I said, a bit unnecessarily.

Mycroft smiled and produced another photograph from his desk. It was clearly much older, but the boy in that photograph could have been the same boy as in the recent one.

"Really, Mycroft," said Sherlock disgustedly.

"Sorry, dear brother, but it's not my fault this photo depicts you in your astronaut pajamas. I am displaying it for scientific comparison purposes only."

"So...so you _were_ interested in the solar system, at one point," I said, suppressing a wildly inappropriate urge to giggle.

"The point has been made," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, "the boy - Taliesin? looks like me. What do you know about this Mycroft? And what are we going to do about it?"

"I haven't had much time, I expect to know more in the next week or so. But what I know so far is that he is the son of Margaret Hyde-White, Dr. Hyde-White's only daughter. He was born five years ago, and no father is listed in the birth records. However, we may be over-reacting a bit to the boy's appearance. Here's a picture of his mother, Margaret."

Mycroft then pulled out a third photograph, also a surveillance shot, apparently taken at the same time as the first one. It showed the boy and his mother together, and I suffered another mild shock. She was a lovely young woman, apparently in her mid-twenties. She was slender and long-limbed with long, raven tresses that fell in gentle curls around her face and shoulders. She had the same pale skin as her son, and also the high-cheekbones and large, slanted eyes. She could have easily passed as Sherlock's sister. Then I realized with a pang that she was about the same age as Sherlock's sister would have been, if his mother hadn't been murdered.

"So you see, Taliesin _may_ be related to us, or not," said Mycroft.

"I want to know for sure," said Sherlock.

Mycroft nodded, "I agree. But we need to talk about what we do once we know for sure. If it turns out he's _not_ related to us, then it officially becomes None Of Our Business. But if he _is..._"

"Hang on," I said, "if this child is only five years old, then wouldn't either of you know if...you know...you had relations with this woman?"

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged a look.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Well, John, I know reproductive medicine isn't your specialty, but I'm sure you're aware that there are other ways of conceiving a child than just the old fashioned way."

I flushed, "Okay, well, how would Margaret Hyde-White come into possession of Sherlock's or your sperm?"

Mycroft looked a little uncomfortable, "Well, Dr. Caspar Hyde-White collected several samples from me, before Mummy's murder, when we stopped seeing him. Sherlock, I'm assuming you were probably too young?"

Sherlock nodded, "I was, and I've never been asked to provide samples by any other doctor I've seen since I reached...maturity."

"So," Mycroft said crisply, "that leaves three, maybe four possibilities of how Taliesin may be related to us," he ticked them off on his fingers, "he might be my son, he might be father's son (because if Dr. Hyde-White collected from me it's certainly possible that he collected from father as well - in which case that would make Taliesin our brother), he might have been cloned somehow, although I consider that highly unlikely, or he might be Sherlock's son, through a collection method that somehow Sherlock was unaware of, also very unlikely."

"So if he is related to us, he's likely either your son or our brother," Sherlock said slowly, clearly thinking over the implications.

"That's the conclusion I've reached, in the absence of concrete evidence," said Mycroft.

"How soon will you know?"

"Probably in another week or so."

There was another pause.

"So," Mycroft finally continued, "we need to discuss what we want to do in the case that a family relationship is confirmed."

Sherlock immediately replied, "If he's a member of our family, he needs us in his life."

Mycroft nodded, "I agree. However, we cannot assume that the mother would be open to acknowledging the relationship. We have to consider a worst-case scenario: an ugly, public court battle where all of our backgrounds, family history, is revealed. The revelations of the news about the Galton Society could cause a so-called 'media circus.' It would almost certainly end my career, and possibly yours as well. It would certainly change our lives."

For whatever reason, an image of Sally Donovan calling Sherlock a "freak" came to my mind. Just think how she would treat Sherlock if she knew about all this? It was a chilling thought.

Sherlock shrugged, "Given the choice between having our family complete and a career, I choose the family." He paused thoughtfully then said, "never thought I'd say those words. But, if that child is a Holmes, he needs to know us."

Mycroft looked at me, "John?"

I was startled. Mycroft wanted my opinion? How did I achieve that importance?

I stammered a bit and then said, "Well, I certainly wouldn't suffer as the two of you would, so I hardly think my opinion matters, but the possibility of there being another person in the world with Holmes DNA is, I feel, a good thing. And, if I have the privilege of having that person in my life I can't imagine what I have to lose that would make me regret it for an instant."

Mycroft smiled at me, and then exchanged an expression with his brother that I couldn't interpret.

"One final point to consider," Mycroft continued, "if we do have to conduct some sort of legal battle over this child, it could impact our ability to punish those guilty of murdering Mummy."

Sherlock shrugged. "If all cards get laid on the table, then they can be prosecuted for what they've done. But it doesn't really matter. The child's needs should come first, before our need for vengeance."

Mycroft nodded again. "Agreed. So, we will take no concrete action until we have some answers. But in the meantime," he gestured to where Sherlock had tucked away the list of the guilty in his suit jacket, "you can at least start putting some possibilities together."

There was another moment of silence, then all three of us breathed a deep sigh. We looked at each other and smiled tiredly. I was suddenly feeling very drained. I couldn't even imagine how the other two felt.

We called it a night, and as Sherlock and I walked out to the street to go home Sherlock turned to me with a very complicated smile and remarked, "Well, that was unexpected."

TBC

A/N: Again, I am very, very nervous about how all of you feel about how this story is going (and growing!). PLEASE let me know your reactions: Like? Love? Hate? I'm dying to know!


	6. Chapter 6

I Am Hated For Loving - 6

That night Sherlock never came to bed. When I got up in the morning, I found him on the couch, still dressed from dinner last night. He had Mycroft's list in front of him, as well as his laptop. He didn't respond to me at all.

I felt for him, but as always was at a loss as to what to do for him. How do you comfort your friend over what he had learned last night? I made him a mug of tea which I sat next to him on the coffee table and left it at that.

I figured what he probably needed right now was to do exactly what he was doing: attempting to enact justice for his murdered mother. Even if he wouldn't ever be able to act on the plans, it was probably good for him to have this mental focus while he came to terms with his new knowledge. Having nothing to do would be dangerous for him.

As the days went by, I started to become more concerned. He still wasn't coming to bed, and seemed to be working all day and night. He was showering, but not eating much. I kept making him tea, which he drank. Once in a while he would look up when I brought him the tea and give me a grateful smile.

I tried to get him to talk a few times, but he would shake his head at me and say, "Not now, John."

So, I worried silently and hoped that Mycroft would soon solve the mystery of the boy's parentage so we could move on to the next step, whatever that might be.

Finally, after six days of waiting Sherlock's phone rang just as I was headed for bed. When I saw him answer it, I knew it had to be Mycroft.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

He listened in silence while the voice on the other end talked.

Finally, Sherlock responded, "Right, well, keep me informed and let me know if there's anything I can do."

Sherlock hung up and turned to me and said, "Taliesin is Mycroft's son."

I didn't know what to say.

After a pause, Sherlock continued, "He wants to legally establish his paternity, so action on this," he gestured toward the list and his laptop, "will have to wait until we know what the mother's reaction is going to be."

"How is Mycroft doing?" I asked.

Sherlock shrugged, "Sounded ok, a bit pleased, actually."

"Still, it must be a shock."

Sherlock nodded, "I suppose so."

"Hey Sherlock - you're an uncle! Uncle Sherlock!" I smiled at him.

Sherlock gave me a smile back, "Yeah, I guess I am! Never thought that would happen."

There was a pause, neither of us knew what to say.

"Why don't you come to bed?" I finally asked. "You haven't been sleeping properly since...this week."

Sherlock suddenly looked a bit guarded and answered cautiously, "I'll come to bed in awhile, John. There's some more things I want to do first."

I shrugged, but didn't argue. After all, I at least got a promise that he would come to bed. That was better than I had done all week.

However, I fell asleep before Sherlock ever came to bed.

Much later, I woke up to find that Sherlock had joined me and _holy crap he's wanking again!_

This time, I wasn't going to let it pass.

"Sherlock?" I said, carefully keeping my voice sounding just mildly questioning.

I felt Sherlock freeze, but he didn't respond.

After a pause I continued, "Sherlock, erm, I'm not passing any moral judgments, but do you mind not doing that in our bed?" I put just the tiniest emphasis on "our", to remind him that, after all, we were sharing, and at his insistence.

"I thought you were asleep," said Sherlock in a somewhat strangled voice.

"Well, I _was_, but that's a little hard to sleep through. And even if I did it's just not...something I'm comfortable with - the idea of my friend, er, doing that right beside me. It's kind of a private thing."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock's voice sounded small and plaintive. "It's just that...sometimes it's the only way I can get my mind to shut off so I can sleep. I just can't stop _thinking_, and even if I _want_ to sleep I can't...turn off."

I wasn't quite sure what to say, before I had formulated anything he continued, "I just can't stop thinking about all this...family stuff. I want it to stop, at least for awhile. I really want to shoot up, it was one way I could shut off in the past. But...this is the only substitute I've found."

"Could you do it in the bathroom, and come to bed afterward?"

"I've tried that, by the time I get to bed I'm thinking again."

I felt sorry for him, actually. I think everyone knows what it's like when your brain seems to kick into overdrive and you want to forget about something but just can't stop obsessing over it. What would it be like for Sherlock, who already had a brain that always worked in overdrive?

No wonder, with what he was currently dealing with in his life, that he was desperate for some kind of temporary escape. But, did it have to be _that_?

"Do you want to try talking about it? Sometimes just verbalizing what you're thinking about can help you process it so you can move on. You use me all the time that way during cases, it might help now."

"I don't know," Sherlock said doubtfully.

He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "I just can't help wondering about Mummy and Father. Did they even love each other? Did they love _us_? Or were they just following orders?"

"As far as loving you and Mycroft, I think that's pretty clear. Your mother hid your existence because she wanted you, and lost her life for her third pregnancy. She had to have loved all of you. Also, your parents apparently shielded you and Mycroft from all knowledge about the Society. Apparently they wanted your lives to be as normal as possible, while still cooperating with the Society. I'm sure they did the best for the two of you that they knew how to do. That's really all any parent can do, nobody's perfect, after all. And they found themselves in a pretty messed up situation."

"I also can't help wondering how much Father knew. How much he might have been involved."

"Well," I said slowly, "I don't know what to say about that. Clearly your mother's murder affected him deeply, since you say he self-destructed afterwards. Whether he blamed himself for any concrete reasons or not, you may never know."

Somehow, as we had been speaking, Sherlock and I had become intertwined as we had a few months ago back in Surrey. I think what happened is that Sherlock drifted closer, and then I pulled him in, feeling that he clearly needed some comforting while talking about such a difficult matter. Anyway, the end result was that he somehow managed to ease into my embrace, despite his taller frame.

We continued talking, forming theories about the past, speculating about the future, and finally giggling over mental images of Mycroft wearing birthday hats and going to EuroDisney. Sherlock's voice got sleepier and sleepier until I couldn't understand the last thing he said, which was followed by a gentle snore.

I, however, lay awake for quite some time, listening to him breathe and feeling his heartbeat against my side.

END!

A/N: Obviously this is just the end of this particular installment. Much more to come. PLEASE tell me what you think. I really value your opinions and do take them into account with plots and such. So please give me feedback! It is so appreciated. (I'm groveling here!)

Anyway, I'm thinking of making the next story Mycroft-centered to wrap up the loose ends left by this one, before moving on to the next Adventure.


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